


skinny love

by racoongal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Inspired by Music, Its been years, M/M, but turns into fluff, im the only one still into this pair, kinda angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-01 04:57:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17860724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/racoongal/pseuds/racoongal
Summary: warm summer cali beach town sad soft boys wear denim and serenade each other





	1. Chapter 1

_Come on skinny love just last the year_

_Pour a little salt we were never here_

-

Stiles picks at the loose and frayed threads of the old dusty blue sweater. It was his dad’s and still smells like chinese takeout and pine needles. He moves from picking holes in the sweater to chewing the side of his thumb and bouncing his knee. _Fuck maybe I should take another Adderall before I go on_ , he thinks. The gig doesn’t start for another 20 minutes and he doubts anyone would care enough to notice if he’s late. Sliding out the back door of the coffeeshop and into the grimey alleyway, he unlocks the Jeep to pull out pills and a two-day old water bottle from underneath piles of unwashed clothes and blankets. He leans back against the hood of the car and tilts his head back towards the sky. It’s about 5pm on a Sunday in June, and the summer sun warms the pale skin on his face and neck. _I’m going to get a vitamin d deficiency if I don’t start getting out more_. He thinks about how when he was younger and running in the woods was for fun, he used to get freckles. Mom used to call them skin stars. He closes his eyes, sighs, and heads back inside to check the mic and amp.

 

-

 

Derek’s knuckles are white against the steering wheel of a 93 Chevy Camaro. The car was his sisters and still smells like curry spice and wet earth. The picturesque forestry of northern California flies by unnoticed as he sets his gaze unwaveringly on the Route 1 South. He’s going 60mph, because the only cars on this stretch are distant commercial trucks and he’s not in a rush. Laura would have complained that he was driving her car lamely. _Can’t be rushed when you have nowhere to go_ , he thinks bitterly. His eyebrows draw together and his mouth tightens. The radio spits out only garbled static and white noise but it takes another 10 miles for him to notice and turn it off. He checks the time: almost 5pm. S _hit, that’s 4 hours of driving. I should_ _find somewhere to stop_. He slows down to pull off highway and into the downtown area of a midsized urban city somewhere between Sacramento and San Francisco. All the shops look hipster-y and too expensive, but one has a small crowd of people gathered outside. The sign reads ‘live music’. _Why the hell not_. Derek pulls the Camaro into the next available meter spot.

 

-

 

“Hey everyone-” He coughs. His voice is soft but weathered. The crowd is decent, for a coffeehouse venue. The stage sits opposite the windows and adjacent to the bar. The entire place is wooden, with accents of house plants and rustic decor but its not trying too hard. Its big enough to be spacious and small enough to be intimate. Stiles decides he likes it.

“Thanks for coming out today. My name’s Stiles.”

The smattering of applause is polite and he hates it. Most of the 20 year olds here on brunch dates ignore him but a couple older people and the baristas watch.

“This first song is an original, it’s called Skinny Love.”

The weight of the guitar settles like a blanket across his sternum and the strings fit familiarly to his fingers like a warm breath ghosting on the pads of his fingertips. He closes his eyes through the intro and first few bars of lyrics. It’s easier that way- centering, it allows him to feel the song rather than perform it. He can pretend he’s not in the middle of god-knows-where with only two dollars and a beat up Jeep to his name, but instead he’s in the living room of his dad’s house. Dad listens as he scrapes through the barebones of a new song about mom and pretends it doesn’t hurt to hear. When he finally opens his eyes, almost halfway through the song, he immediately locks gazes with a pair of startlingly green eyes belonging to a guy standing in the doorway of the shop. It’s cliche and shocking and instantaneous but Stiles can’t look away and ends up singing the rest of the set to the scary looking leather jacket guy with beautiful and sad eyes.

 

-

 

Derek hears the acoustic music from outside and it’s so melancholic he almost doesn’t go in. But still he makes his way past half the crowd to lean against the doorway of the cafe. The man- the boy singing is young and pretty and tired looking. He’s taller and pale with short-ish light brown hair and well-worn clothes. His voice is warm and beautiful and haunting. Then the boy opens his eyes. It’s cliche and shocking and instantaneous but Derek can’t look away and ends up staring, still and transfixed, at the serenading boy with beautiful and sad eyes.

 

-

 

"Thank you." Stiles mutters into the mic. The set ends and he is more nervous than before it started. He quickly sets to packing up his equipment, hands shaky and breath quick.  _That guy probably left, creeped out by the lanky kid gawking at him. I'm such an idiot._ He fumbles with the amp cord and drops it off the stage. "Shit-". He reaches for it but instead closes around a large warm hand. Stiles pulls back like he's burned. Leather-jacket-green-eyes-beautiful guy picks up the dropped cord.

"Oh shit sorry! Thank you for grabbing that I'm such a fuckin' klutz. And you wouldn't know it but those things are really expensive. Not that you would't know it! You look like you know your expensive- uh items. Not in a bad way! In a classy, totally badass industrial chic way." The words keep spilling out and Guess model guy still hasn't said anything. 

"No problem," the guy grates out. His voice is rough from disuse and his eyes are widened in shock. Probably because Stiles just told him that he's industrial chic. He hands back the cord and Stiles very deliberately doesn't let their hands brush. Stiles turns back to the stage already muttering about how much of an idiot he is.

 

- 

Bipolar. This kid has to be bipolar. The solemn and heart-wrenching boy singing eulogies on stage ten seconds ago and the neurotic steamroll of words and shaky hands in front of him are separate entities. Derek is pretty sure the kid just called him chic. But now he's turning around and Derek doesn't know what to say so he blurts out-

"Your songs... they're nice." Derek flinches,  _Nice one asshole. Real descriptive._ The boy doesn't seem to mind the awful compliment because he turns back around and splits a huge grin. Derek feels like the sun just came out. He barely catches the next words out of the boys mouth because it's like he's turned to double speed. He takes a deep breath and interrupts the boy's stream of consciousness.

"I'm Derek." 

"Stiles" He sounds breathless and Derek almost squints at how blinding the boy's smile is. Their handshake should be calloused, should be perfunctory and nearly uncomfortable. But instead it feels like coming home. Palm meets palm and it feels like a glass of water and an electric shock all at once. 

-

"I'd offer to get you a coffee but being a broke struggling artist is kinda my thing," Stiles tries to pull off the cool and casual  _I may have just asked you out but also totally didn't._ He pulls it off too, by the way Derek's face relaxes- the smallest hint of a smile in his eyes. 

"I'm buying"

 _Oh shoot._ "Are you sure? I was totally kidding, I mean I wasn't really kidding but still don't feel like bad for me or anything I can get my own-"

"What do you drink? I hope for both our sakes it doesn't involve caffeine." Stiles would be offended but is too busy laughing at Derek's bluntness. Plus if teasing means that Derek's at all interested in him, he'll take it. He lets out a small breath and a tiny grin and says, "Chamomile tea please,".  As they walk over to the coffee bar, Stiles can't help but tease a little back.

"And what's your order? Steaming black coffee topped off with a little unleaded gasoline?" Derek snorts.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that black coffee is the holy water of rugged leather jacket types." Now Stiles's smile widens into a shit-eating smirk.

"Way to judge a book by it's cover, Mr. Chamomile." Stiles lets out a startled bark of laughter and Derek rolls his eyes. It's so much easier to fall into banter than it should have been. 


	2. Chapter 2

As they walk past the artisan shops and houses, each painted in soft muted tones of blue, Derek tries his best to keep up with the conversation. After they got their drinks, it came up that he had never been here, and Stiles has taken it upon himself to be a tour guide. The seaside town is sleepy in a calm way, and smells faintly of salt water brine. They're moving west along Main Street and the afternoon light bounces mesmerizingly off Stiles's eyes.

"-so thats the Bait Shack which always smells like fresh crab ass, which to be fair so does everything around here, but it has the best curly fries around and-" Stiles continues his endless monologue complete with wild gesturing until, 

"Here's the pier." Most of Main street drops off almost immediately into dark rock and beige sand, but the center tapers into a small wooden pier. The white paint is peeling and the mussels and barnacles are almost thicker than the posts connecting into the Pacific. Derek must have a questioning expression because Stiles says,

"Yeah I know she's not winning any prizes for looks but this old pier was the first thing they built in this town and she's sturdy!" Derek looks up to say something snarky when he is knocked suddenly breathless. The sun has begun it's descent into the ocean's horizon, leaving behind it streaks of fuchsia and vermillion which cast upon the water's surface. Stiles's hair shifts softly in the sea breeze and every color in the sky reflects off his skin. All of the sudden, the Stiles in front of him is the one from those few moments in the cafe. This Stiles is the one who sings hauntingly and beautifully; this is the boy who sits silent beneath all the words, only to reveal himself in the strings of a guitar and in the lavender of dusk. Derek realizes he's staring because Stiles's cheeks tint pink and his eyes turn shy. 

"You stare a lot, you know that?"

 _I've never wanted to look at something as much as I want to look at you,_ is what he wants to say but doesn't, so he clears his throat looks away. 

"Well anyway, my friend Lydia is having a kind of bonfire party tomorrow night, it's honestly more like a kickback it's not a lot of people just a group of 20 or so and they're all really nice, well most of them are, you totally don't have to come but-"

"That sounds nice," Derek cuts him off with a tiny grin. He's starting to know when Stiles is nervous ranting. 

"Oh! Ok cool yea um what's your phone number," Derek hands his phone over and is immediately distracted by Stiles's long fingers as they type in his information. When he reaches for his phone back, Stiles leans over and brushes the tiniest kiss against his cheek. 

"See you later Derek"

 

-

 

The next night Stiles spends an hour deciding what to wear, and an hour changing his mind. After much deliberation he ends up with the knee length blue jean cut off shorts (its a beach bonfire party after all), a gray cotton tee, and his favorite light wash jean jacket with wool lining.  _Denim on denim is cool and casual._ He pulls up early to help set up the beers in the cooler. The stretch of beach with the fire pit is a little north of the pier and most of town. When he gets there, Lydia and Danny are piling firewood. 

"Stillinski if you don't get those muscled forearms over here to do this for me I will make you pay the medical bills for my splinters," Lydia snaps to try and cover the size of her smile. Stiles hops out of the Jeep to give her a quick hug and then open the trunk. 

"I have Corona," Stiles says to Danny's inquisitive look. 

"I told you that you didn't have to bring anything Stiles, I know you're not... in the best financial place right now..." Danny says quietly with a smile meant to be comforting but all Stiles sees is pity. He feels the anger start to rise. 

"It's not a big deal, dude." Stiles makes an effort to move past this avenue of conversation but Danny continues,

"I'm honestly just glad that you came. We all really miss you. None of us have seen you since..." He should be comforted but instead Stiles just feels the anger continue to rise. Lydia smacks Danny's arm and he moves away.  _Probably should have thought this through more._ They set up in silence until others start to arrive and the tension bleeds away.

About an hour passes and the sun is fully set. The bonfire rages and the sound of people talking and laughing mixes with a small speaker playing The Velvet Underground. Stiles is sitting on a log looking around every 5 minutes for a sign of Derek. Everybody stares pityingly but nobody approaches him to talk, even though all of them haven't seen him in months. When Lydia shoots him her third i'm worried-but-also-about-to-force-you-to-socialize look, Stiles decides it's time for a shot. He grabs whatever cheap tequila bottle is sitting on the makeshift surfboard table and takes a couple deep swigs. 

"Wow I definitely thought Mr. Chamomile would be an artisanal organic beer kind of guy," Stiles chokes and spins around to see Derek smirking at him. "Or at least use a cup." Derek continues to quietly laugh at him while he coughs and splutters the rest of it down. When Stiles can speak again he says,

"Please don't make me bring up the fact that you actually ordered an ice blended caramel macchiato yesterday." When Derek rolls his eyes, Stiles offers up the tequila bottle and asks sheepishly," Please don't make me do shots alone, I know it's not quite as masculine as a pale ale but I'm a poor soul in need of help."

Derek grins, takes the bottle, and says," I love doing charity work." 


	3. Chapter 3

"Wait- but ok- just-" Every time Stiles begins a sentence he is interrupted by his own uncontrollable laughter. He and Derek are laying with their backs on the sand, feet propped up on a log, looking to the sky. The party and the bonfire crackle around them, but Stiles is focused on only one thing.  _Dude Derek's eyebrows are so cute,_ sends him back into laughing all over again. 

"Can I fucking help you? Stop laughing at me." Derek says, attempting to be menacing, but the words are softened by the fondness and humor in his eyes. 

"Doth must forgive me! For I hath fallen abreast Mother Tequila, and am gay and alight with merriment!" Stiles drunkenly warbles. He throws his hand dramatically across his forehead.  _Hell yeah my_ _Shakespeare_   _speak_ _is totally sexy._

"You're definitely gay but I don't know about the rest of whatever the fuck you just said," Derek sounds breathless with laughter and Stiles turns his head to look. The fire lights the edges of Derek's profile with warm yellow. There's a beat of happy quiet until Stiles asks:

"Derek. What's your favorite movie?"

"How to train your dragon 2."

"What really?!!"

"No." That ignites Stiles's laughter again and it's a few moments before he continues, more quietly:

"I'm serious! I want to know you...better. I want to know you better." Stiles presses his flushed cheek against the cool, damp sand. For a minute Derek says nothing. Then:

"My little sister Cora used to watch that movie over and over again. Laura and I hated it but would never turn it off, we wanted to please her so bad. It only took a couple of days for all three of us to know every single line by heart," Derek whispers. His face is still turned to the sky, almost as if he's confiding these secrets to the night, shrouded in navy and mulberry purple. Stiles hesitates and asks, his voice barely above a murmur:

"Where is she, Derek?

"Dead. Laura too. Buried with Mom and Dad in a moldy old cemetery in north-west Washington." His voice is suddenly devoid of the nostalgia with which it was just filled. There is only a moment of pause when Stiles continues:

"Well Cora had great taste, that movie is phenomenal. I had a huge crush on the blonde girl, Asterix." While Stiles is talking, Derek turns to look at him with something close to surprise in his eyes.  _You probably hate the pity as much as I do,_ Stiles thinks. He tries to convey his understanding through their eye contact. Ever so slowly, after seemingly an eternity of entrapment within each others gaze, the light returns to Derek's eyes. A tiny and tender smile curls at the corners of his mouth and he murmurs: 

"Astrid."

"What?"

"Her name was Astrid not Asterix you fucking doof." And Stiles is laughing again. 

 

-

 

It is 9:40 the next morning, and Derek is walking along Main Street again. He heads to a grocery mart he saw the other day. The store is small, with 10 aisles and 5 registers, only one of which is operated by an old woman currently checking him out.  _Oh god._

"Excuse me ma'am, are you the manager?" He asks politely and semi-uncomfortably. 

"Oh yes dear, it's just me and Harold that run this old shop," Her voice is frail but not un-kind. 

"Are you hiring?" 

 

-

 

As they sit at the edge of the pier, watching the boats dock in and out of harbor, Stiles itches to hold Derek's hand. He almost musters up the courage to do it too when Derek says:

"I got a job."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, at the grocery store. I'm stacking boxes for the old lady."

"The creepy one?"

"Yup. Which sucks because the boxes are actually heavy and it's hot as fuck right now." Stiles's head is immediately filled with the image of Derek sweating in a skin-tight tank top, moving and picking up heavy things. He doesn't realize he's blushing until Derek laughs at him a little bit. They listen to the sounds of the waves crashing until Stiles can't help himself and blurts out;

"Why?"

Derek looks confused and his eyebrows draw together.  _Cute_. "Why what?"

Stiles takes a deep breath and sighs before he says, "Why did you get a job? I kinda assumed you were a nomad or on the run, since you're so mysterious and such. Totally figured that you'd skip town soon. Not that I don't want you to stay! I want that, I really want that! A lot, a whole fucking lot! I didn't mean to question you- "

"I just thought-" Derek interrupts, "I just thought... that i'd stay for a bit." The seagulls and tides feel distant when they look into each other's eyes, as if in this moment, they are the only things to exist. Stiles is lost in the sea glass green and olive of Derek's eyes when he says:

"Ok."

He can't help but smile so wide his cheeks hurt. Derek is smiling too.  


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: if you cant/don't like/are triggered by reading about a panic attack (first person perspective) or a car crash (kinda graphic, not really) please skip from lines "So what'd ya think!? I feel like it went well, the crowd..." to the line "I'm such a fucking idiot"  
> enjoy!

4 days pass and it's the happiest Derek has been in 5 years. The job at the grocers actually doesn't suck, besides the occasional creepy remark from the old lady whose name is Lucille. Every day after work, he gets to see Stiles. They talk about everything from the joys of coconut cupcakes (Derek secretly likes to bake) to an extensive list of the distinctions between Star Trek and Star Wars ("They're not the same Derek! How could you say that?! Entirely different principles, themes, and symbolism!"). He's been there less than a week, but Derek begins to forget the life before this. After that time at the party, they don't talk about their pasts again, until:

Stiles just played another gig at a dive bar a couple miles south of town. The joint is pretty much a hole in the wall, but the crowd is sizable. It seems that a bunch of college kids drove up here from a nearby town, and there's a group of 4 or so girls gazing up at Stiles dreamily as he plays. Derek clamps down on the jealousy immediately, stuffing it somewhere between his ribs.  _His fanbase is growing, pretty soon he'll be picked up by a record label._ At this thought, a familiar feeling joins the jealousy in his sternum: loss. But, there is also pride in there too. Derek tries to focus on how proud he is of the beautiful boy singing a John Mayer cover (by request of one of the girls) and how the dingy yellow lighting and grime-y walls do nothing to dampen Stiles's glow.

 

-

  

After the show, he and Derek step outside to get some fresh air. It's only 11pm, but the night already feels thick around them. Crickets chirp and the sound of the crowd is a muffled drone behind them. 

"So what'd ya think!? I feel like it went well, the crowd is a lot bigger than I was expecting. I'm pretty sure the bar isn't legally allowed to fit that many people but who cares!" Stiles grins and waits for Derek's inevitable quip about how dirty the place is or something like that, but Derek says nothing. He is looking out at the I-405 that stretches in front of them, almost solemn. Stiles is too concerned by how withdrawn Derek is to hear the sirens until it's too late. 

 _Oh shit, oh fuck not here. Its ok Stiles, it's just a police car passing by. No need to freak out, just a police car._ His racing pulse begins to slow at this thought. But when he looks to the highway and sees the car marked 'Sheriff', sirens blazing and racing at something close to 95 mph, the panic sets in. 

 _No, no, no, no please, fuck._ His throat constricts, his body begins shake uncontrollably, and he feels his back hit something hard and wooden. With each memory that resurfaces,  _the Sheriff's car crumpled like aluminum foil_ , Stiles's body convulses. _Both t_ _he sirens and the pavement were red,_ _No. It smelled like burnt rubber and hot copper, Stop._

He has no idea how long he hyperventilates but when sensation flows back in slowly and his throat begins to open, he becomes aware that he is wrapped up in strong arms. _Shaking_ , _the arms are shaking,_ he realizes.  _And hairy. How did I never notice how hairy Derek is. Am I_ _sitting on his lap?_

"Derek" he mutters. He tries to sound comforting and strong but the arms just get tighter. They are on ground, Derek's back against the building and Stiles's back against his chest. Stiles tries to turn towards him but again the arms tighten. 

"I'm fine, i'm ok. I'm sorry you had to see that. I get panic attacks sometimes but its over now so you can let me go. Also you're crushing me a little bit" Stiles has the facade firmly back into place and the words spill out like usual. Derek lets go. They stand and out of all the things Stiles expected to see on Derek's face, it was not anger. Stiles continues:

"I'm sorry. It's not a big deal i-"

"Not a big deal?!" Derek explodes. Stiles is startled and shocked.

"Why are you yelling at me?" 

"Why are you acting like that was normal?!" When Derek says this, Stiles can almost see something else in his eyes behind the anger, but now he's pissed off too. Stiles is suddenly overwhelmed as people have started coming out of the bar to look.  _I can't do this._

"What the fuck Derek! I can't fucking deal with this right now." With that, he turns tail and runs to the Jeep. 

 

-

 

 _I'm such a fucking idiot._ _I can't believe I did that._ Derek is sitting in his car, parked in one of the beach lots back in town. He keeps replaying the events of earlier that night over and over. Stiles's eyes rolling back into his head, his uncontrollable shaking, and wheezing shallow breaths. It was terrifying. Derek has only been that scared once in his whole life, the night Laura and Cora died. So when Stiles came to and started talking as if nothing had happened, Derek couldn't take it.  _Thats not an excuse to fucking yell at him._ He sits in the lot for an hour longer, stewing in self hate. When he finally decides to drive back to the motel he's been living in, its almost 2am.

As he makes his way through town, he sees a bright blue Jeep parked outside a 24 hour laundromat and next to a Vons.  _I shouldn't_ _,_   _I should give him space_ , he thinks, but his hands pull over and shift into park anyways. Derek swipes one of the 4 dollar flower bouquets from the Vons's outdoor display. They are yellow roses. He continues to the laundromat silently, trying to make as little noise as possible. Inside is empty except for Stiles in a worn gray hoodie 5 sizes too big for him. The fluorescent lighting makes his cheeks look almost sallow, and Derek is hit with a pang of guilt so intense he sighs. He hides the roses behind his back, closes his eyes, and says:

"Hi." It's barely a whisper so it's a wonder Stiles heard him at all. The Stiles that turns around to look him in the eye is the Stiles that he heard singing 6 days ago. He is melancholic and pale, eyes full of wariness. Derek steps forward and says:

"I... was scared," he flinches at his own words.  _Not good enough._ Stiles says nothing but leans back against the washing machine, arms crossed across his chest. Derek continues:

"I was terrified. The only other time in my life that i've been that scared was the night Laura and Cora died," At this Stiles's eyes soften but Derek continues," I couldn't do anything and I... thought I might lose you. That doesn't make the yelling ok, I'm shit at handling emotions but I needed to tell you that I'm sorry." There are a few long minutes of quiet filled only by the sounds of the washing machine. Derek looks down at the linoleum floor. 

"You really are" Stiles says. Derek looks up, surprised. 

"I really am what?"

"Shit at handling emotions," Stiles's eyes have a spark of humor and the melancholy has cleared from his face, "I thought I was bad but you definitely take the cake."

Derek is suddenly embarrassed and sheepish but he manages a "Um well here's-" and brings the bouquet out from behind his back. Stiles is surprised and takes it from Derek's hand gingerly. Then he starts to laugh (very hard for at least 5 minutes). Derek is a little hurt and moves to take the flowers back.  _I guess I deserved that._

"Oh no! I'm not laughing at the flowers, they're lovely! Thank you. I'm laughing at us! At this whole situation really. The fact that it's 2 in the morning in a laundromat and you're giving me roses because we're both emotionally constipated as fuck," As he's talking, Stiles steps in close to Derek.

They are almost the same height but Stiles still has to tilt his face up slightly to lean in press their mouths together. As their first kiss together goes, it's not much- a chaste and soft press so light it's barely there. But for Derek, it is revolutionary. They kiss again, deeper this time, but tender and slow. Derek takes Stiles's face in his hands as if he is the most precious thing in the world. They kiss like this for seemingly a small eternity. But Stiles can feel Derek's restraint, and does not enjoy being treated as fragile. He surges upward, pressing their chests together and threading his hands through the hair at the base of Derek's head. This is what opens the flood gates and his control slips away. He picks Stiles up, wrapping his legs around his waist and walking them to the washing machine to place him down. They kiss passionately, and Derek feels like he's been waiting for this for 100 years. When they finally pull apart to breathe, resting their foreheads together, Derek can't help but breathlessly say:

"Who the hell even does laundry at 2 in the morning anyway?"

Stiles's laughter fills the empty night. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> currently in the process of writing more! i have a lot planned dont u worry (song is skinny love by bon iver)  
> PS: my tumblr is aprilcolours come say hi


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